


Crowley's Mistake

by CitrusVanille



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Past Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 10:53:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4561815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CitrusVanille/pseuds/CitrusVanille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Crowley runs into someone he once knew.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crowley's Mistake

“Angel,” Crowley greets Aziraphale as he enters the shop. It comes out a little more curtly than he’d intended, but it’s been a long day and he’s not interested in anything except convincing Aziraphale to close the shop and join him for lunch at the Ritz. “I’ve had the –”

“Shh!” Aziraphale cuts him off. “Customers,” he gestures towards the stacks.

Crowley arches a single eyebrow behind his sunglasses. “Customers?”

“Two of them,” Aziraphale whispers, clearly anxious at the prospect of parting with even a single beloved tome.

“Kick them out,” Crowley tells him in his best _what else would you do with them?_ tone.

Aziraphale looks vaguely scandalized. “I can’t do that.”

Crowley huffs. “ _I_ will do it, then,” he snaps, not in the mood to cater to the angel’s Higher Principles. “And then we’re going to the Ritz for lunch.”

“Crowley, I really don’t think –” Aziraphale tries to object, but the demon is already prowling the aisles in search of his targets.

Said targets turn out to be two young men, one brunet, the other black-haired, who are standing so closely together that their shoulders brush as they peruse the books at the back of the shop. Crowley takes less than half a second to consider taking advantage of the situation to make them feel awkward and just as quickly discards the idea in favor of just annoying them with time-honored rudeness – he is in a hurry, after all.

“You,” he addresses the potential buyers sharply. “We’re closing. You’ll have to –” his voice cuts off abruptly as they turn to face him.

The black-haired man’s stunning grey eyes widen in surprise. “Anthony?”

Crowley’s throat works, but no sound emerges. His brain seems to have gone temporarily dead, with only a single thought – italicized, bold, and underlined – left trailing through… **_Shit_**.

“It’s been a long time,” the black-haired man – _Sirius,_ Crowley’s traitorous brain supplies helpfully as it grinds back into motion – seems to have gotten over his initial shock and is clearly trying to be casual.

“Long time,” Crowley repeats, and winces internally at such a complete lack of his usual cool.

“Crowley, what –” Aziraphale comes around the corner of one of the shelves and stops. “Sorry, am I interrupting?” he inquires politely.

“No,” Crowley says hastily, rather more grateful than he’d like to admit for the diversion. “This is Ezra Fell,” he says, not looking directly at Sirius. “He owns the shop.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Aziraphale clearly means the sentiment (he’s an angel, after all), and offers his hand.

“Pleasure,” Sirius replies, his response automatic, as they shake hands. “I’m Sirius – Sirius Black – and this is Remus Lupin.” His hand drops to touch the brunet lightly at the small of the back as his grey eyes flick to Crowley. “I believe I told you about Remus – and some of my other friends – that summer we met.”

Crowley doesn’t miss the significance of Sirius’s reference, or the gentle touch, and it makes something unpleasant twist in his stomach.

“Remus, this is Anthony Crowley,” Sirius continues, turning to his companion. “I met him the summer I left home. He’s the one who gave me a lift to James’s place, actually.”

“I guess I should thank you for looking out for him,” the brunet remarks, giving Crowley a crooked sort of smile that the demon is more used to seeing on his own face, and Crowley wonders how much he really knows about Sirius’s association with him that summer. The semi-casual-semi-possessive arm he throws over Sirius’s shoulders implies he know more than what the other young man has just said.

Sirius ducks his head, hair swinging forward to hide his face, but not before Crowley catches a glimpse of his blush.

Aziraphale shifts, clearly feeling the tension but unwilling to meddle overtly.

“We should go,” Remus Lupin, arm still around Sirius, decides so smoothly Crowley wonders if the angel Suggested it to him, after all. “I believe you said you were closing?”

“Yes,” Crowley affirms. “I’m taking Ezra out to lunch.” He’s not entirely sure why he phrases it like that, but decides not to analyze it.

“Oh, I see.” Sirius looks up at him again, and Crowley is as caught by his intense grey eyes now as he was three years ago. “Well, it was nice to see you again.”

“And you,” Crowley replies, somewhat uncomfortable with the knowledge that he’s being sincere, and can’t help but watch as the two young men let Aziraphale steer them politely to the door.

The moment the door is shut and locked behind them, and the sign flipped from _Open_ to _Closed_ , the angel rounds on Crowley.

“What was that?” he wants to know.

“ _That_ was Sirius Black,” Crowley tells him, as though that explains everything, which, Crowley supposes, it actually does.

Aziraphale merely frowns at him, and waits for a more complete story.

Crowley scowls, already starting to feel more like his usual self, but decides to indulge the other, at least somewhat. “I met him about three years ago, here in London. He was coming out of one of the clubs and I was out for a drive.”

“You seduced him.” It isn’t a question, but Aziraphale is obviously a bit shocked and more than a little displeased.

“Why not?” Crowley challenges. It’s his job, after all, to lead others into temptation, and, despite the results of this particular case, he’s quite proud of his overall success.

“Why not?” Aziraphale echoes. His thoughts are quite clearly in opposition to Crowley’s on this matter, not that that comes as any particular surprise. “Beyond my general objections to your behavior, he’s so young! He can’t have been older than –”

“Sixteen,” Crowley supplies wickedly. “I know. And he was as delicious than as he is now.”

That shuts Aziraphale up, but he purses his lips in continued silent disapproval.

“A perfect heartbreaker, I thought,” Crowley continues. “He just needed a bit of a jumpstart, and who better to give it to him than me?”

The angel refuses to rise to the bait, so Crowley goes on.

“I saw him a few times, showing him the joys of moving in a more… social… direction, and eventually, amongst other things, found out his home life wasn’t ideal. I encouraged him to run away – gave him a lift from his parents’ house – and that was that. I never counted on seeing him again, my work was done.”

Aziraphale appraises him for a moment, then states, very calmly, “You’re lying. You turned into a schoolgirl the moment you saw him. I’ve never seen you like that in all the millennia I’ve known you.”

Crowley’s eyes narrow behind his glasses. _This is rich,_ he thinks. “For once,” he informs the other, “I didn’t lie.”

“Lying by omission is still lying,” the angel states without bating an eye. “Who was the other one?”

“His lover, I’d assume,” Crowley answers, and it comes out half hiss.

“He’d spoken of him to you?”

“They went to school together. Sirius was in love with him.”

“Still is, it would seem,” the angel’s smile is nothing short of beautifully angelic. It makes Crowley’s teeth hurt.

“Yes, well,” he grits out, forcing himself not to keep hissing.

Aziraphale looks at him then, really looks at him, and Crowley sees the moment when understanding dawns. “Oh, dear boy.” He reaches out and puts a somewhat awkward hand on Crowley’s shoulder. “He ended up a heartbreaker after all.”

Crowley snorts, but doesn’t shrug him off. “Even I make mistakes,” he mutters, then looks up to meet the angel’s pale eyes, and, suddenly, it doesn’t hurt quite as much. His mouth tilts in a grin, and he cocks his head slightly in both thanks and question.

Aziraphale nods, and gives his shoulder a squeeze before releasing him. “Let’s go have lunch,” he suggests.

So they do.

**END**


End file.
